


~*Steve Lamacq and Richey*~

by vtn



Category: Manic Street Preachers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-05
Updated: 2010-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:56:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtn/pseuds/vtn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The romantic tale of a lonely NME journalist and a tortured poet.  Also, by romantic I mean full of <i>crack</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	~*Steve Lamacq and Richey*~

**Author's Note:**

> This one was *definitely* for Kyra. I'm pretty sure it was how we met actually; she said on Forever Delayed that someone should write this and then I did. Or something like that. 
> 
> Contains references to self-harm (i.e., that one particular incident that all MSP fans should be familiar with), although used in a really offhand and ridiculous way. I'm not sure if that makes it better or worse.

Steve was always playing coy. Even though at night he listened furiously to his Manic Street Preachers EP, clenching his teeth for the glorious chorus sections and crying tears of joy at James Dean Bradfield's guitar solos, he knew that as a music journalist he had to play the part of the disillusioned indie rocker. He was ready to kneel on the ground and kiss the feet - or perhaps the sticky red lips - of the four makeup-adorned Welshmen before him, but he restrained.   
  
"Listen, can I have a moment?" Richey asked, tapping Steve on the shoulder. Steve nearly had an aneurysm. It was all clear now. He was about to be initiated. And possibly shagged. Or at least have a sexy chat over mixed drinks. Except then, to his great disappointment, Richey was just going on about how 4REAL he was, and bleeding all over the carpet. Steve thought it would be lovely to lick Richey's wounds, but then everyone started making a fuss and decided to take Richey to the ER.  
  
All the way there Steve held Richey's hand, and though Richey rambled on about politics and the new paradigm and how shit Madchester was, Steve knew that Richey was really saying he loved him. His hand in Richey's felt electric.  
  
After Richey had some stitches done, he said to Steve again those beautiful words, beautiful because unlike Richey's political rhetoric, Steve was actually able to understand what in the bloody hell Richey was talking about. He said, "Listen, can I have a moment?"   
  
"What?" said Steve, "Are you going to do your other arm now?"  
  
"Well, I was thinking of having it done to say 'Madchester is a bit shit', but I'd probably faint before I finished, so I thought maybe we could just kiss for a while instead."  
  
Steve nearly fainted himself to feel his lips against Richey's! Richey was so beautiful! He was like a fallen star. He was like a Sonic Youth song. He was like - but Steve could hardly think like a music journalist now. Unless...  
  
"Listen," said Steve, trying not to stammer, trying to be strong and not give in to the passion that was telling him to prostrate himself before the glory of Richey. "Listen, I know you're 4REAL and all, but there's a way you can guarantee that I'll write a really good article about you..."  
  
"Fine," said Richey, "but let me get my Rimbaud first."  
  
So while Steve was enthusiastically shagging Richey, Richey read sections from  _A Season In Hell_ and sipped his vodka, and complained about how he was bored and his stitches itched.  
  
This was it, Steve thought. This was what he had always been waiting for.  
  
It was so meaningful.  
  
The next morning, Steve had lipstick in questionable places and had an imprint of '4REAL' on his chest where he'd been sleeping with Richey's arm against him. He then went in and had a roundtable conversation with some of his fellow journalists, and you wonder why that B-side was called 'Sleeping with the NME'...


End file.
